I've been up to The Table just below Mount Moriah just once, back in the early 1980s. It is a wild and open area, with great views of the surrounding valleys and Great Basin ranges, and amazing stands of Bristlecone and Limber pine. We found a small spring at the base of Mount Moriah that provided enough water for our meals, but otherwise the area is pretty desolate, with little shade. I remember it as being very windy and stormy the day and night we spent up there.

We explored out toward the northern end, where we found an unusual stone structure (see The Mystery of The Table Below Moriah). If for nothing else I would like to go back and examine this structure one more time. For some stupid reason we didn't take a photo of this unusual feature.

We approached from the west side, which, apparently, is the steeper approach, but we had little difficulty with full packs. If you want to be alone for a day or two, this is the place to go.

Included here are two short essays that I wrote about our visit to Mount Moriah, before it was designated a Wilderness Area.

Written on July 14, 1984

Mount Moriah sits as the second ranked jewel in the crown of the Snake Range. From the valley floor it doesn't effect the same awe as Mount Wheeler just across Sacramento pass to the south. Yet it harbors a secret just as splendid as Wheeler’s glacial lakes and concave cirques. One thousand feet below Moriah, extending some two hundred thousand acres to the north, is a geologic “table.” The broad, flat area is like another world, some fairyland captured during a more romantic past and preserved by its relative inaccessibility.

The Table presents itself, at first, as a barren, rock strewn, wasteland. The gray mass of Moriah itself rises naked to the south. A few pockets of last winter’s snow remain to provide groundwater which springs to the surface at innumerable locations across the rolling top of The Table. These springs bubble up from small holes perhaps two to six inches in diameter, forming miniature lakes which puddle at maybe one to two inches deep and possibly six to twelve inches across. Then they overflow into thin ribbons of cold water which travel, in some cases, ten feet, before they disappear beneath the rocky surface. Some reappear further on, others seem gone for good. They all tend toward a low spot a ways to the northeast, where a boggy area occurs, lined with velvet mosses.

The water that comes from these multiple springs is cold, clear, and tasty. There appear to be no insects within or upon the water, but there is some delicate plant life. Perhaps the water is too cold to support an insect population. If you can kneel close enough to one of these outlets without getting your pants soaked you can drink right from the ground. It’s a pleasure that many of us city dwellers have never experienced. However, a dipped Sierra cup is almost as enjoyable. Sipping from the cold metal is reminiscent of a cool dipper-full freshly drawn from an open well on a humid, hot, summer afternoon in Nebraska. Or a taste of the cold irrigation water pumped from 300 feet below the surface. These are all small momentary pleasures that last in the recesses of a stimulated memory.

Of course the snow fields and glistening springs are not the only features of this table sitting over 11,000 feet above sea level. Because of the elevation, the vegetation is sparse, small, and fragile. Tundra-like. This is an alpine habitat. There is a carpet of tiny flowers of delicate hue and structure. It’s like a forest reduced by the view from an airplane. Each plant with its normal structure reduces in proportion to its size. Once you realize these plants are there you hesitate to leave the marked trail. It is obvious that treading upon this vegetation will be harmful to its existence. Perhaps it springs back readily, yet they seem so delicate, so vulnerable.

In contrast to the alpine vegetation visible only to those who stop and look, there are the huge, powerful, aged Bristlecone pine. Their twisted forms are scattered in sparse stands across The Table, but seem to huddle closer to the edges and to the edges of the table to the south, close to the slope of Moriah itself.

It is the Bristlecone that gives this vastness the fairy-like atmosphere. For how can any living thing be so twisted and tortured and survive. The bare wood, the ragged bark, the clusters of needles and cones contrasting in color the shades of buff and brown within the wood. The tree’s entire structure perched upon a ledge of stone. Gnarled roots scratching the surface and penetrating to some unknown depth. These are the monarchs of the range; the patriarchs who have seen it all. They have been dated in this range to over 6,000 years. In fact, the oldest known tree in the world was accidentally cut down not far from this place. An unforgivable tragedy.

Yet the trees bear the burden of the environment as well as any other living creature. They have adapted to the harsh weather and whipping winds and have become beautiful in their rustic way. They are groves of “Ents” from Middle Earth. Marching broom handles from Fantasia. They are fortresses against the otherwise flat surface of The Table.

And last, but never finally, there is the panoramic view that spreads out on three sides of a weary hiker. To the east is Snake Valley in Utah, with its hazy distance and barren ranges to the north and south. Directly north is the rolling, yet sometimes ragged, features of the northern Snake Range, already declining toward a meeting with the valleys. To the west is Spring Valley with its moist pockets surrounded by cultivated fields and ranches. And, across the valley is the Schell Creek Range, still snow covered in finger-like pockets with its jagged peaks reaching into the blue Nevada sky.

Of course, these are only the most obvious features. As one sits to contemplate and absorb the scene there will appear many features unknown to the mover. The coloration of lichen clinging to a rock. The shadow of a pebble upon a stone streaked with quartz or calcite. The chirp of some small bird flirting on the edges of a Bristlecone. The subtle changes of shadow and light as the sun moves across the sky. The quiet ... the quiet. And the brilliant radiance of sunset across valley and range silhouetting Bristlecone stands in a final fantasy of shape and color.

Have another cup of cold water.